


How Frail the Human Heart

by Miko



Series: The Lonely Hearts Club [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Child Abuse, Cop!Len, Domestic Violence, Gen, Murder, Serial Killers, thief!Barry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: As troubled teenagers go, Barry Allen is nothing special. Detective Leonard Snart has seen a hundred just like him, but he believes the petty thief might not be beyond saving yet. The question is whether he's a sullen kid acting out to get his wealthy father's attention, or whether the good doctor isn't the upstanding citizen everyone believes he is.Len is determined to get to the bottom of things and make sure Barry's not being hurt... but there's far more going on behind closed doors at the Allen house than Len could ever have imagined.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [How Frail the Human Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661537) by [jeckselent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeckselent/pseuds/jeckselent)



> Something about ColdFlash really lends itself to role reversal for me, even though it's not the sort of thing I usually like. This fic is completely gen, but is the prequel/backstory to a much longer ColdFlash fic I have planned. I debated whether or not to post this first so you have context for the second one, post it later as bonus material after the main story, or maybe not post it at all. In the end, Chichirinoda convinced me that it was a good story on its own, so here it is ^_^

_'How frail the human heart must be - a mirrored pool of thought.' - Sylvia Plath_

* * *

There was nothing particularly special about the suspect waiting in the interrogation room. Sadly, even his youth wasn’t of note, not when that room had seen so many other teenagers sitting within it. 

Watching through the one-way glass, Detective Leonard Snart took stock of the boy, marking off first impressions like a checklist in his mind.

The kid had that scrawny, stretched-thin look that came from too many growth spurts in a short time, and the gangly awkwardness to match. His brown hair was tousled in a way that suggested he either spent hours getting it perfect, or couldn’t be bothered to find a comb - the line between fashion and laziness was hard to spot, sometimes.

There was none of the arrogant defiance typical in gang members and serial offenders. No sign of the anger or aggression so common with troubled teens. His shoulders were hunched, lanky frame half folded in on itself, body language screaming that he would rather be anywhere else. The sullen expression suggested frustration at being caught rather than guilt as his driving emotion, though.

Sighing, Len gathered up the file and headed in. For all that the kid didn’t look like much, Len had a bad feeling this was going to be a tough nut to crack. 

At least the child advocate social worker assigned to sit in was of the jaded, didn’t-care-anymore variety. The new workers fresh out of school were a pain in the ass, constantly jumping in to defend their charge from the big bad cop who was trying his best to scare them straight.

As the door opened, the kid looked up at him. The file had said his eyes were hazel, but there was a surprising amount of green in them. Defiance and - was that fear? - flashed through his gaze before he lowered it again, scowling at the table like it had offended him.

“All right, Mr. Allen.” Len slung himself into the chair across from the kid, slapping the file down on the table. “Or should I call you Bartholomew?”

That earned him an irritated glance, and Len quirked an eyebrow at him. “Just checking. So tell me, Barry. What’s a straight-A honour roll student with a squeaky clean record doing swiping gold chains from a mall jewellery store, hmm? Looking for a nice present to impress your sweetheart? Can’t be that desperate for money, your old man’s one of the best heart surgeons in the world.”

Barry’s shoulder twitched, and his gaze flickered to one side and back again, but he said nothing. The file indicated he lived alone with his famous father; a missing persons report had been filed on his mother nearly five years ago, but the investigating officer concluded she’d run off on her own. 

Eyes narrowed, Len pushed harder at the apparent sore spot. “He must be gone a lot. Busy when he is around, not much free time away from saving people’s lives. Trying to get his attention?”

A shudder ran through Barry’s body, and his breath hitched. His fists clenched on the table, then he visibly forced himself to relax them.

Something inside Len went very still. That was not the reaction of a kid throwing the teenage version of a tantrum to get his father to notice him.

It might, however, be the reaction of a kid trying very hard _not_ to be noticed by said father. 

Len cut a glance at the social worker - Melissa? Miranda? They burned out so fast, he could never remember their names. She was examining her nails, not watching the boy. Suddenly he wasn’t so grateful to have her instead of one of the fresh faces.

Wouldn’t be the first time a so-called pillar of the community turned out to be an abusive asshole at home. Wouldn’t be the last, either. Maybe that was why the wife had cut and run, though it did raise the question of why she wouldn’t take her kid with her.

Too early to make assumptions, but definitely a thought to keep in mind. Leaning back in his chair, Len steepled his fingertips together, evaluating his prey. If he was right, an aggressive approach would probably make the kid clam up tight - not that Barry was being much of a chatty cathy at the moment.

“What’d you need the money for? Sex? Drugs? Somebody shaking you down, bullying or blackmailing you? You don’t look like an addict, but you do look like the kind of kid who gets shoved into lockers a lot.”

That won him a snort from Barry. Amusement, derision, it was hard to tell, but it was an acknowledgement that Len’s comment wasn’t far off the mark. There was definitely a ‘what would you know about it’ overtone to the sound.

Len chuckled. “Got pushed into my fair share back in the day. Though I’d far rather take the lockers over getting my head shoved into a very used toilet.”

“You?” Astonishment and disbelief rang in the first word Len had wrestled out of the kid. Barry lifted his head at last, gaze running down and up what he could see of Len behind the table.

As cops went, Len was no muscled brute, though he didn’t have a doughnut paunch, either. He could handle himself damn well in a fight, but people underestimated him and his best weapon had always been his brain. 

In fact, when he’d first been promoted, his partner West had nicknamed him ‘Detective Pretty Boy’ until Len’s tireless hard work had pushed their solved case rate higher than any other team in the precinct.

Barry took in all of him, and the corner of his lips twitched. “Yeah, okay, I can believe that. So is this gonna turn into one of those ‘It Gets Better’ videos where you tell me if I just hang in there, my life will be worth it in the end?”

Good, they were forming a bond. The more Len could get the kid to open up to him, the more chance this would be one of the rare teens he could steer _away_ from ever returning to a room like this again.

And the more chance he could find out if something was going on at the kid’s home that shouldn’t be. 

“As a matter of fact, I’ve made one of those. Feel free to look it up on YouTube.” Len smirked as the kid gave him a scandalized look, like Barry couldn’t believe someone in his thirties even knew what YouTube was. “Not what I’m interested in at the moment, however. Talk to me, Barry. This is your first offence, but it’s a serious one. You’re damn lucky what you’d taken was only worth a few hundred, or you’d be facing a lot worse. Why’d you do it?”

Shrugging, Barry shifted his arms and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket, out of sight. He looked away again. “Bored, I guess. I saw the display left out while the sales lady’s back was turned, so I grabbed at it.”

Len would believe it had been an impulsive move; the security tapes backed that up. Barry had been walking by, the case was left carelessly open by the saleswoman, and Barry had swiped the chains so smoothly even the cameras barely caught it.

Which, in itself, suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d done something of the sort. Barry hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t glanced around furtively, hadn’t so much as paused in his stride as he walked by. This might be his first offence, but it wasn’t his first kick at the can.

Frowning at the thought, Len tapped his fingers together. Finally, he decided to take a risk. “Saving up to run away, are you?”

Barry’s gaze jerked back around to him, dismay and fear written large in his suddenly expressive green eyes. Only now that the emotional shutters were briefly lifted in shock did it become obvious how much of the kid’s inner thoughts they’d concealed. 

The goddamn social worker still looked vacant and uninterested. Len wondered if kicking her under the table would cause her to sit up and pay attention, or just piss her off and make her tune out entirely.

Unfortunately Barry recovered too quickly for Len to draw the woman’s attention, shoulders hunching in once more as his gaze returned to the table. “Does it _matter_ why? Last I checked, the law was pretty clear on motivation not mattering.”

“It may not matter once it gets to the judge, but it can matter in terms of what you get charged with.” Len raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a smart kid with a brilliant future in front of him, Barry. Only a few years, and you’ll be off to college anyway. What’s so bad that you’d risk that now?”

 _Finally_ the child advocate stirred, interest entering her expression. Even better, Barry swallowed and bit his lip, as if he was considering giving an honest answer.

And then a knock on the door shattered the moment. A uniform poked her head in the door. “Detective, Dr. Allen is here. He’s demanding to be let in.”

Just that fast, Barry closed up again, tighter than ever. _Worse_ than ever. Instead of hunching, his back went ramrod straight. His expression froze, as distant and remote as a statue. Only the rapid flutter of the pulse visible in his neck gave away the strength of his inner reaction.

Cursing silently, Len stood and nodded. “Let him in, officer.”

The man who swept into the room didn’t _look_ like any kind of threat. He was silver-haired and distinguished, reasonably fit for his age, and dressed in the kind of power suit that probably cost more than a year’s salary for Len. His expression was stern but hinted at disappointment, exactly as Len would expect from a parent faced with a suddenly wayward child.

Too exactly? Was it a scripted reaction, carefully crafted for the benefit of the authority figures in the room? Or was Len reading far too much into a couple of twitches on Barry’s part? Damn it, there was no way to know.

Especially since the social worker lit up like a kid at Christmas. “Dr. Allen, it’s an honour to meet you. I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

Allen gave her a gracious nod, but his attention was fixed on Len. “Detective, is my son under arrest?”

“Not at the moment,” Len admitted with some reluctance. “The DA hasn’t decided on charges yet. However, until then we’re holding him for…”

“Surely that’s not necessary, Detective,” the advocate broke in, apparently deciding to finally do her damn job in the worst way possible. “Barry isn’t denying his actions, and you can hardly say he’s a flight risk or a danger if released to his father’s care.”

“I assure you, Detective. This will _not_ be happening again.” The doctor’s steely gaze turned to Barry. “Will it, son?”

“No, sir.” The reply was nearly inaudible, and Dr. Allen cleared his throat. Barry coughed, and spoke louder, though his voice remained a monotone. “I was caught by temptation, and I made a stupid decision. I regret it, Detective, and I’m sorry.”

Len ground his teeth. Every instinct he had was going off, screaming at him that something was wrong with this picture. It was too pat, too perfect. Both father and son were saying exactly what was expected, exactly the right thing.

But what could Len object to? The fact that Barry was respectful to his father? That Dr. Allen was upset with his son’s criminal behaviour and intended to punish the kid? 

He’d hoped that holding the kid for ‘further questioning’ would give him the chance to pry the truth out of Barry. Then again, now that his father was present - and would probably lawyer up with an expensive shark at any moment - Barry was unlikely to give anything else away if there _was_ a problem.

Worse was what Barry _wasn’t_ saying or doing. He hadn’t so much as glanced at Len or the social worker since the good doctor entered the room. No silent pleas for help, no obviously terrified behaviour, nothing Len could point to as an excuse to do something. 

Either nothing was wrong beyond the usual story of a sullen teen and stern father, or something was so wrong that Barry had long since learned not to bother looking to authority figures for help. 

It was a sad fact that the willingness of teachers, counsellors, and even cops to consider the possibility of child abuse was directly related to the social station of the parent. The more affluent the family, the less anyone was willing to believe they could be ‘bad people’.

Which was complete bullshit, but there was nothing Len could do to change the system. 

“You’re free to go,” Len was forced to say. Did Barry twitch at the words? Was it relief, or dismay? “You’ll be hearing from us shortly, as soon as the DA has made up their mind whether to pursue the charges or not.”

The answer was ‘not’ and everyone in this room knew it. Len would bet every penny he had that the doctor was golf buddies with the DA or the mayor or _somebody_ who would be happy to make such a minor infraction go away without a fuss. 

He tried hard to catch Barry’s eyes one last time, but the teen had risen to his feet and had his gaze locked on the floor. Dr. Allen nodded again to Len and the social worker. “Thank you both for all your hard work for the city. My son and I will be heading home, now.”

With that he swept out of the room, Barry trailing along in his wake like a whipped puppy on a leash. And damn, now Len couldn’t get that mental image out of his mind. “Barry,” he called, and surprised the kid into looking back at him.

They studied each other for a moment, but Barry let nothing slip in his expression. Finally Len sighed. “Keep your nose clean. I don’t want to see you back here.”

The crooked smile Barry gave him did absolutely nothing to reassure Len. “Don’t worry, Detective. I have no intention of ever setting foot in this place again.”

Then he was gone, and Len was left with nothing but the sour taste in his mouth to show that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't run this by any cops or American lawyers, and while I'm a legal assistant in Canada, I'm purely family law. It's entirely possible I've done something grossly wrong in terms of Len dealing with Barry in this fic... artistic licence? It's not really our world, and their laws are different? Lol


	2. Chapter 2

Through the rest of the day, the Allen case ate at Len’s mind. It sapped his concentration to the point that his partner West had to snap at him to pay attention when he nearly stepped in a puddle of blood at a crime scene.

Embarrassed and shamed, Len struggled to get his thoughts off the kid. It wasn’t as if he had a lack of pressing cases to work on, all of them far more urgent than one delinquent rich boy. There were robberies to solve, murderers to chase down, more work than a dozen detectives could hope to deal with in a day. He’d honestly spent too much time on the case as it was.

And yet, he _couldn’t_ let it go. Why this particular case bothered him so much, he couldn’t say, beyond his personal hatred for how often affluent people got away with shit. There were far worse crimes being swept under the rug out there, though. All of them enraged him, so why _this_ one?

Maybe it was Barry’s age, and the sense Len had that the kid wasn’t yet beyond redemption. The boy had the potential to make so much of his life, but he was headed down entirely the wrong path. If the course of that path was being dictated by abuse from his father, all the more reason Len needed to help.

There was nothing Len could do to change the lives of the criminals he chased, other than putting them away so they wouldn’t be a danger to society any longer. Len had accepted that long ago, moved past his childhood ideal of what being a hero meant. Cops dealt with the consequences, the aftermath.

But Barry might be someone he could actually _save_.

Instead of heading home after his shift, or going out for a few beers with West and their pals, Len found himself steering his bike out to the suburb where Barry’s address had been listed. He never had been good at leaving well enough alone.

To his surprise, the Allen residence wasn’t among the multi-million dollar homes and mansions in the truly affluent part of town, but was in a heritage neighbourhood with single family homes on decent-sized lots.

The houses were in varying states of repair, as were the cars in the driveways, indicating a range of incomes. Children played on the grass and in the quiet streets, all of them happy and exuberant in the way only kids could be. When he flipped up the visor of his helmet, Len could smell barbeques cooking in several backyards. There were even a few adults scattered about on porches, chatting and keeping an eye on the kids.

It was the kind of place Len had dreamed about growing up in, before reality taught him that dreams were nothing more than useless distractions. His family could never have afforded a home like this, especially after his father died in the line of duty. 

On a hunch, he pulled the file from his saddlebag after he parked, flipping through the pages. Sure enough, the address listed for the family during the investigation of the wife’s disappearance was the same one Len sat in front of now. 

If Nora Allen had died, Len could maybe understand wanting to preserve her memory, but every indication was that she’d run off and left her family behind. Why stay in a home that held memories of a woman who’d abandoned them? Especially when the good doctor moved in the sort of social circles that expected certain appearances of affluence and influence be maintained.

Maybe the doctor wasn’t as wealthy as Len assumed. There could be several reasons for that, including drugs and gambling.

No way to know, not without a lot more digging. Len was skating perilously close to an official reprimand as it was. He didn’t dare put any more time into it than this, or ask for resources to be committed to satisfying his curiosity. 

As he made his way up the sidewalk, he studied the house carefully. There was nothing overt to mark it as different from the others, beyond the fact that it was probably the best maintained of the beautiful old buildings. No children playing in the yard, no smoke wafting from the backyard, but it was hardly alone in that. 

It certainly didn’t look like the sort of home that ‘should’ house the kind of monster who could hurt his child. Unfortunately, that perception might be exactly why one got away with living there, because nobody would see beyond the prosperous surface.

West kept saying that Len’s suspicious nature was going to come back to bite him one of these days. It was possible today was that day. In fact, Len devoutly hoped that was the case.

The doorbell rang out, sonorous and clear despite the muffling effect of the thick wood and glass front door. He waited a long moment before solid, steady footsteps approached, and then the door opened to reveal Dr. Allen looking out at him with a faint scowl.

Damn. Len had hoped Barry would be the one to answer the door. Nothing for it now.

“Detective,” Allen said, his tone of voice conveying deep disapproval. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Is my son being charged after all?”

To nobody’s shock, word had swiftly come down from the DA’s office that no charges were being pressed against the boy. Small wonder Allen was surprised to see him.

“No, sir. The DA feels Barry is sufficiently remorseful and unlikely to repeat the offense.” In a pig’s eye - Len was still convinced it wasn’t Barry’s first theft, and the odds were low of it being his last if his circumstances remained the same. Still, formalities had to be followed. 

“On reviewing the video again, however, I saw signs that there might have been an accomplice.” There had been no such thing, but it didn’t need to be a good excuse. “If someone out there is perhaps influencing or even forcing kids like Barry to commit crimes… well. If Barry can help us bring that person to justice, it would… reflect well on his record.”

“I see.” It was clear that Allen _did_ see. His tone indicated that he was well aware that Len was lying, but acknowledged Len’s implied promise that this was an excuse to expunge Barry’s record instead of simply dropping the charges. “Of course Barry will cooperate. However, he’s currently grounded in his room, and I’d rather not break the punishment. Could you come by tomorrow?”

The nape of Len’s neck prickled. That seemed an awfully weak reason to refuse to let him talk to the kid. “I hardly think a further police interview is a pleasant break from a grounding. It would be best to get this over with quickly, before the paperwork is processed any further.”

Allen’s scowl increased, but he finally nodded. “Wait here.”

He started to close the door, and Len’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you think it would be better for me to speak to Barry in the privacy of your home, doctor?”

The smile Allen gave him was grim, and held no mirth. “Without a warrant, you have no right to enter my house. If I invite you in, however, I’m sure you’ll wander around ‘curiously’ and need to use the restroom or some such excuse.”

“Are you hiding something, sir?” Len arched an eyebrow at him. “If not, you should have no reason to fear me being in your house.”

Allen snorted. “I’m simply a man who has learned his lesson. When my wife went missing, of course I invited the police into my home to search for clues. They hunted, all right, but what they were looking for wasn’t the truth. They wanted something they could use as ‘proof’ that I’d done harm to her, because that would be the easiest way to ‘solve’ the case.”

There was likely some truth to his words, Len acknowledged sourly. When a woman went missing, the first suspect was going to be her husband. There _were_ cops who got over-enthusiastic about their job, and might take the search too far.

“As you wish, doctor. I’m not on a witch-hunt. I just thought you’d prefer not to have your son interviewed by a cop in full view of the neighbourhood.”

That gave the man pause. He hesitated, then sighed and swung the door wider. “You may enter the parlour and sit on the couch. If I find you anywhere else, or poking about in the room, my next words will be a call to my lawyer. Am I understood?”

“Absolutely.” Len wondered if the man had been in the military prior to being a heart surgeon. He had the air of a drill sergeant about him, snapping orders that he clearly expected to be followed.

Again, nothing Len could point to as the source of his unease. Maybe the guy was a strict, even unloving father, but that wasn’t abuse. It just sucked, as Len knew very well. 

At least he’d had his stepmother’s caring influence to mitigate his father’s stern attitude. With Barry’s mother out of the picture and no sign of an extended family, perhaps it was a simple matter of a child born to privilege feeling unappreciated and not realizing how much worse it would be if he ran away. 

Several minutes passed. Len sat restlessly, tapping his hands together, a habit he’d never been able to break. It annoyed him that he had the tell, but he couldn’t quite keep his fingers from fidgeting when something was bothering him. How long did it take to get a kid out of his room? Was Barry refusing to cooperate?

Finally the boy appeared in the doorway, as sullen as ever. “Detective. What are you doing here?” 

Barry was hesitant as he stepped into the room. Len inclined his head at the sofa across from the chair he’d settled into. The teen warily perched on the edge of the indicated cushion, as if he thought he might need to run at any moment.

And of course, Dr. Allen followed him in, coming to stand behind the couch with a hand on his son’s shoulder. Len eyed the point of contact, trying to judge if the man was gripping too hard. Was it a warning? Or an offer of silent support? 

Damn it, he really needed to learn to shut off his paranoia sometimes. Except that paranoia was the whole reason he was here, so he might as well let it run its course.

Of all the crimes he’d worked, solved and unsolved alike, this might yet be the case that drove him crazy. 

“I needed to talk to you again.” Len tried his best to communicate with his expression that he’d wanted to check up on Barry, but the kid was still avoiding eye-contact. “The DA has agreed to drop the charges, but there was some evidence on the tape that indicated you might have had an accomplice.”

“What?” Barry blinked and finally met his gaze, almost adorably bewildered. “No, of course n…”

“Think carefully, son.” Dr. Allen’s hand definitely tightened on Barry’s shoulder, and the boy clammed up immediately. “The DA is offering to wipe your record, not just drop the charges, if you cooperate.”

“Like that’s not going to happen anyway?” The first hints of true emotion appeared in Barry’s voice: resigned disgust at the corruption in the system, an expression that seemed far beyond his years. 

Strange, considering that very corruption had kept Barry from a probation sentence or worse. At least he wasn’t arrogant about it - too many rich brats took it for granted that they could get away with anything short of murder, and sometimes even that.

Clearing his throat, Len arched an eyebrow at the kid. “I’m simply here to give you a chance to… make sure you get everything off your chest. If there’s _anything_ more you wanted to tell me, I’m here to listen, and I promise to take it seriously.”

There was no way Len could be more explicit about his true intentions, not with Dr. Allen right there in the room. Unfortunately, if Barry caught his real message, he deliberately ignored it.

“If you think I’m going to pick some innocent person at random and hand them over to you, just to save myself a _tiny_ bit more trouble, you can think again.” Barry’s eyes flashed with genuine anger and outrage, and he pushed to his feet. The move broke his father’s grip on him, and Len thought he might be seeing the kid’s true self for the first time.

Interesting. Very interesting. Smoothly Len stood to meet him, surprised to find they were exactly eye-to-eye. “So you’re not above swiping someone else’s property, but you’re above hurting an ‘innocent’ person for your own benefit? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Detective…” Dr. Allen’s warning was cut off by a low growl of frustration from his son.

“It’s not like I stole someone’s wallet, or… or attacked them in an alley to get their jewellery. I would _never_ do that. I would never hurt _anyone_.” 

“And what about the people who own that store you stole from? Are they guilty of something that makes it okay to hurt them?” Len ignored the severe frown Dr. Allen was giving him, choosing instead to focus a stern expression of his own on Barry. “Let me guess. You figured it’s a big chain store, they won’t even notice a few hundred dollars missing.”

Barry’s jaw went tight and he looked away, and Len knew he’d hit the nail on the head. He bulled forward, right over top of another attempt by the good doctor to derail him, hoping he might actually be able to reach the boy. 

“Here’s a tip about the reality of being an adult, kid. Money doesn’t come from nowhere. People who own small business, even small franchises, they live pretty much hand to mouth. It’s not the big chain that will suffer for acts like what you pulled today, it’s the person who now maybe has to choose between paying an employee this week, or drawing their own salary to feed their kids. You might as well have picked it right out of their pocket.”

Barry looked startled, then thoughtful… and then, to Len’s delight and relief, shame crept into the teen’s expression for the first time. Shame, and guilt, and true awareness of the consequences of his actions. “I didn’t think about it like that. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t _think_ , period.” Dr. Allen’s expression was coldly disapproving, of Len as much as his son, but at least he also seemed to recognize that Len had managed to do some good here. “Thank you, detective. If that will be all?”

Though Len felt like he hadn’t learned nearly enough, he _had_ accomplished one of his primary goals. And there was still no indication that Barry suffered from anything worse than emotional neglect, which might be a moral crime but was incredibly difficult to turn into a punishable one.

“I think we’ve covered everything I needed to,” he conceded with a sigh. There was nothing more he could do here. Maybe nothing more that needed to be done. “I meant what I said though, Barry. If you do think of anything else you want to talk about, I’ll be there to listen.”

A jerky nod was his only answer from the youth, and Barry wasn’t meeting his eyes again. Whether the message had been heard or not, it was up to Barry to make the next move.


	3. Chapter 3

When his sister came over for their weekly dinner a few days later, Len filled her in on his concerns about the Allen case. It continued to bother him, and he hoped maybe she’d be able to see an angle he’d missed. Lisa was sharp as a razor blade, rapidly working her way up in the DA’s office, and one of the best people Len knew at seeing through lies and deception.

For a long moment she considered what he’d told her, nails tapping on the metal fork with a faint ringing sound. Finally she shook her head. “I don’t know, Lenny. I’m the first one to tell you to trust your instincts, but you also have to look at the facts. You said it yourself, there’s nothing more you really _can_ do.”

“There has to be something.” Len ran a hand over his head, scrubbing at the short bristles of his hair in frustration. 

“The kid is fifteen. If he’s determined not to ask for help, you can’t force him. At that age it’s often a matter of pride as much as shame that keeps them quiet.” 

That was certainly true. Len remembered being a young teen, listening to people go on and on about how his father was a hero for the lives of the hostages he’d died saving. Though Len had seethed inside, wanting to snap at them that their ‘hero’ was nothing more than an asshole in sheep’s clothing, pride had kept his mouth shut.

It was also pride that had driven him into the police academy, wanting to show the world what a _real_ hero looked like. People had lauded him for living up to his father’s example, but the truth was that he’d always intended to surpass it.

He’d long since had that shiny idealism rubbed off, but he’d vowed he would never become the sort of unfeeling bastard Lewis Snart had been with his wife and children. Thank God Lisa had only been a toddler when the man died, too young to remember what their father had really been like.

Len changed the subject, but his thoughts stayed with him through the rest of the meal. There was still no evidence of abuse at the level that would bring about intervention by the state, yet he couldn’t seem to let this case go. He’d even sent a request to child services that they do a ‘follow-up’ visit at the home, but from the tone of the report the social worker had taken it more as an excuse to rub elbows with the rich and famous again.

Perhaps all of Len’s concern was truly nothing more than his personal bias showing. Allen had the same cold, stern manner that Len remembered from his own father. Len had turned out okay, so maybe now that he’d talked some sense into the kid, Barry would too.

As he and his sister cleaned up the dishes, laughing and teasing in the way that only siblings could, the doorbell rang. Startled, Len glanced at Lisa. “Did you invite someone over?”

“ _After_ dinner? And I’d have asked first before I invited someone to your house, Lenny.” 

Curious and wary, Len gestured for her to stay in the kitchen. He set down his towel and headed for the door - and of course she was hot on his heels. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother scolding her.

It was likely nothing… except he couldn’t think of any benign reason for someone to be at his door after nine at night, in the pouring rain, without calling ahead.

Opening the door, he found a familiar lanky youth hunched on his doorstep, the hood of his red sweater pulled up in a futile attempt to keep off the downpour. Barry was visibly shivering, and Len’s eyes widened when he glanced over the kid’s shoulder to find a bicycle propped against the wall. 

“What the hell, Allen?”

Barry lifted his head, and the porch light made his soaked, scrawny form look downright wretched. “I need your help.”

Completely boggled, Len spent another few seconds staring in shock before Lisa reached over his shoulder and yanked the door the rest of the way open. 

“For god’s sake, Lenny, invite him in already. He’s gonna catch his death out there.”

Barry’s eyes darted to her, startled and dismayed. “Oh, I, uh… I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were married.”

Her merry laughter competed with the rumble of thunder. “Lenny _wishes_ he was that lucky.”

“Hardly.” Len flicked a sour glance at his sibling, but stood back out of the way so Barry could enter. “Even if you weren’t my sister, you’re really not my type. Barry, how did you find me?”

Coming in far enough to allow Lisa to close the door behind him, Barry stood dripping on the tile of the front hall. He looked like a lost, half-drowned puppy who was sure he was about to get kicked. “I followed you home from the precinct one day.” 

Barry glanced again at Lisa, and Len could see the way he hesitated. So could she, apparently. 

“I need to finish cleaning up in the kitchen. Why don’t I make you boys some hot chocolate?” She gave Barry her best sweet, innocent smile, the one that had charmed plenty of men into doing her bidding. “Honey, you need to get dried off. Use the bathroom, there’s towels. Lenny, get him a sweater or something.”

“Bossy,” Len accused his sister as he moved past her to head for his bedroom. “You know I’m the _older_ brother, right?”

She kicked his ankle as he went by, and he saw Barry relax at the teasing. There was a hint of longing in the boy’s eyes, and Len understood. Lisa was often a royal pain in his ass, but she was also an important part of his life. He didn’t know what he’d have done without her, but he’d be a very different person today.

Barry had only his father… and if he’d gone as far as seeking Len out at his home, chances were good Len’s suspicions about that father were correct.

Damn it. He really wished he’d been wrong this time, because it meant a good kid had been suffering.

In short order Barry was dried off as best he could be, dressed in a spare pair of Len’s sweatpants and a CCPD hoodie, and ensconced in a living room chair with a mug of hot chocolate clutched in his hands. Though he was the right height for Len’s clothes, Barry was too much of a beanpole to fill them out. It made him look even younger than he was.

Barry was holding the mug like he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it, fingers so tight they’d gone white. Len took a sip in the hope that Barry would follow his example. Thankfully, the ploy worked; Barry slugged back a big gulp of the rich, hot liquid, and the last of his shivering eased off.

“I’m glad you reached out to me.” Len blinked when his comment made Barry jump. The kid was wound tight enough to snap. Carefully Len gentled his tone, returning to the ‘skittish wild animal’ approach that had worked at the station. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“I know.” Barry’s voice broke, and he bit his lower lip to stop it from trembling. After a moment, he drew in a breath, and tried again. “You made it up, didn’t you? The whole thing about the accomplice. Just to have an excuse to come check on me. And the social worker coming back, that was you, wasn’t it?”

Len simply nodded, not wanting to interrupt now that the kid was finally talking. 

“Nobody’s ever gone that far.” It was a whisper, distraught and miserable, but there was a tiny spark of desperate hope in Barry’s eyes. “You’re not the first to suspect something was wrong, but… well, you saw. Either they don’t believe a rich, famous white guy could be bad, or my father throws money at the problem and it goes away. You’re the only one to follow through, be so persistent. I had to talk to you before my dad could get to you.”

There was an implied statement there that Len couldn’t ignore. “No amount of money will _ever_ make me back off. I’m not that kind of cop.”

“I believe you.” Barry shuddered, probably more from fear than cold. This time he drank his chocolate without prompting, and it seemed to calm him. Mentally, Len blessed his sister for thinking of it.

There was a long moment of silence. When it was clear the kid would say nothing further, Len spoke softly. “Talk to me, Barry. You did the hard part, you came to me, but I need something I can act on. Tell me what he’s done to you, so I can help.”

“This isn’t about my father hurting me.” Barry met his gaze with a disturbingly intent expression. “It’s about my father hurting other people.”

That was _not_ where Len had expected this to go. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Explain.”

Barry shook his head. “I want immunity.”

“Immunity?” This was getting serious, fast. “Contrary to what TV might lead you to believe, that’s not the sort of thing that gets tossed around at the drop of a hat. Why would you need it? If your father is hurting people, that’s not on you.”

“I’ve been doing research. Kids aren’t held legally responsible for not reporting a crime, but teenagers are. If I had witnessed something or knew about something my father had done, and kept quiet for years, then I’d be an accessory.”

Len felt a streak of respect for the boy. That Barry was smart enough to consider those kinds of consequences, understand what they meant, and cover his ass like this, said a great deal about his intelligence. 

“I haven’t read you your rights, this is off the record, and you’re a minor without a guardian, lawyer, or social worker present,” Len pointed out. “Nothing you say here would be admissible in court.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna take that to the bank.” Barry shook his head, scared and stubborn both. “I want immunity, or I’m not saying anything else.”

Putting his mug down, Len folded his fingers together. “It’s not that simple. I need something solid enough to convince the DA to grant the request. _Hypothetically_ , what sort of details might you be able to bring to the table?”

Barry visibly struggled with himself, fighting an internal battle Len wasn’t privy to. Just when Len thought he wasn’t going to talk after all, Barry caved. “I… I think my dad is the Lonely Hearts Killer.”

The words refused to sink in. Yet again, Barry had yanked the conversation in a completely unexpected direction, and Len couldn’t quite process the sudden leap. 

‘Lonely Hearts’ was what the press had dubbed a nation-wide serial killer who’d been increasingly active over the last few years, because the bastard always cut the hearts out of his victims. 

What he did with them after that, nobody knew. No trace of them was ever found. All the victims were beautiful redheaded women, their bodies left in out-of-the-way but not hidden places, guaranteeing they’d be found eventually. The hearts had been removed with surgical precision.

Barry’s father was a heart surgeon. Still, that was a damn thin line to connect the two.

“That’s a hell of an accusation.” Len frowned, though he tried hard to keep his tone neutral. He didn’t want to scare the kid off now that Barry was starting to trust him. Even if what Barry was saying seemed impossible. “Got anything to back it up?”

“I know what it sounds like, detective.” Barry’s smile was crooked and dark. “I’m not making this up to get back at him for hurting me, if that’s what you’re thinking. If that was all I wanted, I only needed to tell the truth to the social worker.”

The statement implied that Barry _was_ being hurt, and Len wasn’t going to forget that or let it go. But for the moment, he needed to focus on the much bigger issue. “Then give me something concrete.” 

“If you line up the dates and locations of the killings, they all match times when my father was called away to perform surgery in that city.”

“All right, that’s something.” And easily verifiable, which was a bonus. “But it’s still circumstantial at best. Your father is a powerful man, Barry. As evidenced by the way your theft charges disappeared into thin air. I still don’t understand why you think you’d need immunity to report any of this?”

Taking a deep breath, Barry hunched in on himself, expression bleak. “You must have seen my file. Seen the picture of my mom.”

It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. “Your mother was a redhead, too. She does match the profile, but _every_ indication is that she was planning to run, Barry.” Len said the words as gently as he could. “She cleaned out the family accounts, we have video of her at the bank doing it. She talked to friends about strategies to get away. She even left a note, in her own handwriting. I know you don’t want to believe she would leave you behind…”

“Because she _wouldn’t_.” Barry was suddenly fierce, leaning forward as if he could force Len to understand. “All the signs showed that she was planning to leave because she was. _We_ were. He came home early, caught us on the way out.” 

Despite the aggression, Barry’s voice was shaking, and he’d started shivering again as well. “He was furious. I’ve never seen him like that, before or since. He never loses control, no matter how bad he gets, but that night… He s-said if she was going to try to cut his heart out, it was only fair for him to do the s-same.”

Chills ran down Len’s spine. “Are you saying you want immunity because you saw your mother’s murder, and didn’t report it?” 

His mind raced. Barry wasn’t wrong to be concerned, though Len doubted any jury would convict a boy too frightened of his abusive father to come forward with a confession of a horribly traumatizing event. 

The question was, would it be enough to do anything with? He glanced over Barry’s shoulder, where Lisa was lurking in the doorway. She shook her head, her expression grim. The testimony of a terrified then-ten-year-old wouldn’t be enough for the DA to press charges, not against someone with Allen’s connections. 

“Do you… In this hypothetical situation, would you know where the body might be? Or the murder weapon? Some other proof?” Len asked, trying to be careful to keep it in the non-incriminating terms Barry insisted on. 

The kid opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shuddered again, huddled in on himself. Protecting himself from an expected blow, as if he thought his father would appear out of thin air to punish him. Impulsively Len reached out, offered a hand across the coffee table. 

Barry flinched away from the gesture. Len silently cursed himself, but before he could withdraw, Barry let go of his mug to clasp Len’s hand in turn. His grip was crushing, desperate, and Len hung on with everything he had in silent promise. 

Swallowing hard, Barry forced the words out, his voice hoarse. “What if… what if I could tell you where to find the missing hearts?”

Len’s eyes went wide, and he saw Lisa’s mouth form a perfect ‘O’ of shock. It was his turn to take a deep breath, and he picked his words carefully. “Then I would need to make some phone calls. Right now. But _you_ need to be very certain. We’ll only get one shot at him, and it needs to be airtight.”

Barry said nothing, his gaze fastened on their combined grip. Len tugged at his hand to get his attention, and repeated his question. “Are. You. _Certain_?”

Searching his eyes, Barry seemed to find whatever he was looking for. His shoulders straightened, and he nodded, far too jaded and world-weary for his age. It broke Len’s heart, even as he admired the kid’s courage in coming this far.

“Make the calls.”


	4. Chapter 4

“CCPD, open up! We have a warrant!”

Len didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed shouting the words quite so much, and he might have been pounding on the door harder than was necessary. His blood boiled every time he thought about his conversations with Barry, both the one at his house and the much more official talk at the station after.

_"When he came in and caught us with our suitcases, it was like he lost his mind. He backhanded my mom so hard she hit her head on the kitchen doorway. I don’t know if I started to scream or he just figured I might, but he grabbed me by the back of the neck and clamped his other hand over my face. I remember panicking, trying so hard to breathe, but he wouldn’t let go."_

Behind him, West had a hand on the butt of his gun. Len knew his partner had been no less affected by the kid’s story, maybe more so since he had a daughter the same age.

The door opened a crack, although a chain lock had been engaged. Allen scowled through the gap. “What’s the meaning of all this?”

“Dr. Henry Allen, we have a warrant to search the premises.” Len shoved the paper through the door. “Open up, or we’ll force our way in.”

Personally, he was hoping for the latter option.

_”Mom threw herself at him as I was starting to black out, but I guess maybe she had a concussion because she couldn’t seem to hit him very well. He let go and I collapsed. I couldn’t get enough air to scream again, I was too scared. It’s kind of a blur. Hell, all I **really** remember is how terrified I felt. The rest is in bits and pieces like a nightmare._

As he skimmed quickly over the warrant, Allen’s frown deepened. “I’ll want my lawyer to…”

“You’re welcome to call him or her while we search, but if you don’t open the door in the next ten seconds, I’m breaking it down.” Len met him glare for glare. 

The door closed, but Len could hear the chain being removed, so he waited. It opened again to reveal Allen standing there in his silk pyjamas and a night robe, the very picture of affronted innocence. “I thought you weren’t on a witch-hunt, Detective?”

“I lied.” Len felt no remorse about it, either. Especially since he’d ended up finding a demon instead of a mere monster. 

_”I huddled in the corner, like if I could stay small and quiet enough, he might forget I was there. He threw her down on the hall rug, hard. She tried to get up, crawl away… he’d knocked the air out of her, I think. She kept making these gagging, whining sounds like she was trying to scream and couldn’t. Then he grabbed a scalpel from his work bag and started stabbing her, over and over and over... “_

Despite Allen’s accusations that the police had been hunting for ‘false’ proof that he’d hurt his wife, the file indicated the officers investigating the missing person report had never checked the house for blood. The detective who’d signed off on the paperwork had simply written that they were satisfied all signs indicated Nora Allen had left of her own free will. 

Len wasn’t sure if the sloppy investigation was due to laziness, incompetence, or bribery. Given what Barry had said about Allen throwing money at problems to make them go away, the last option was undoubtedly involved to some extent.

_”He was smart. He knew there’d be evidence that she was planning to leave, because she was. He used that to throw the police off the trail - took her car out with the suitcase she’d packed and dumped both. I don’t know how he got back. He was gone for hours. Next morning he called the police first thing, said she’d left in the middle of the night.”_

_“Why didn’t you go to a neighbour for help? Call 911 while he was gone?”_

_“He locked me into the secret room in the basement.”_

“Ramirez, Merkowski, keep an eye on him,” Len ordered two of the uniformed officers who’d accompanied him and West. “If he tries to run or makes a threatening move or does _anything_ other than call his lawyer, cuff him.”

“This is outrageous persecution and harassment…” 

Before Allen could really get started on blustering, Len cut him off. “The rest of you, with me. We’re heading downstairs.”

For the first time, Len saw a gleam of sweat on the good doctor’s brow, a trace of nervousness in his eyes. 

_“I think maybe the house was part of the Underground Railroad or something, way back when. The room’s old, really old, built right into the foundation. The entrance is hidden under the stairs down there, you have to know exactly what to look for to find it. It’s where he hid her body until the investigation was over.”_

The fake wood panelling in the basement was a hideous leftover from the seventies, but it certainly did a good job of hiding the entrance to the secret room. Even with Barry’s explicit instructions, it took Len a few minutes to find the edge and pry it open. 

Beneath the moveable panel was a much sturdier door with a padlock holding it secure. Forewarned by Barry, Len had brought bolt cutters, and it only took a moment before he was through.

_”He locked you in **with her body**?"_

_”That time, yeah. Ever read Stephen King’s ’Carrie’? Y’know the part about how her mom would punish her?”_

_“You’re saying he put you in there more than the once?”_

He had to duck through the opening, and the room beyond wasn’t large enough for him to stand up in. There was a bare light bulb in a metal cage on the ceiling, but no visible switch, so presumably it was turned on from somewhere outside the room. 

The floor and two walls were solid concrete, part of the foundations of the house. There was barely enough air circulation to keep it from being a death trap, and the tiny room reeked of bile, urine, and human waste.

Len felt sick to his stomach. Not at the stench itself - he’d encountered far worse at murder scenes and never once lost his lunch. No, the nausea was from the visceral confirmation of Barry’s story.

_“It’s his favourite punishment. He’d never do anything that would leave a mark. I almost don’t mind so much when it’s only a few hours, because at least it means he’s not lecturing me. When it’s longer, though, things get… messy. Sometimes I get sick from the smell.”_

Len hissed and punched the concrete wall, needing the sting of pain to ground him. Otherwise he was going to turn around and go up and punch Allen instead, and he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to stop once he got started. 

Barry had _cried_ while telling them, tears of shame and humiliation slipping free despite his obvious efforts to hold them back, sliding slowly down his cheek until he’d wiped them away roughly. 

Now Len knew why it had taken so long for the doctor to fetch Barry to speak with him - the kid had needed to clean up, first.

“Get CSI down here, I want them to scour this room once we’re done,” Len snapped at West, still outside the entrance. “And find the damn light switch.”

_”When he’s away for a surgery, he always orders me to scrub out the room and sanitize it. When he comes back, he goes in there for hours.”_

_“Any idea why?”_

_“There’s a safe, a big one, that he had built in. I learned to crack safe locks by practicing on it. Not like I had anything better to do in there. I figured there’d be money, maybe enough for me to finally run. A couple of days ago I got it open, but the only thing I could feel was these weird jars.”_

If he’d been feeling around inside in the dark, Barry’s fingerprints would be all over the safe and its contents. Len made a mental note to be certain to put the explanation on as much of the paperwork as possible, in case someone tried to speculate that it was evidence that the kid hadn’t been an innocent witness to the doctor’s crimes. 

Using the numbers Barry had given him, he spun the dial and heard the tumblers fall into place one by one. That done, he pulled the latch bar, and the heavy door swung open with a ponderous groan. The light snapped on at last, illuminating the contents of the safe in stark relief.

 _“Today I guess I behaved well enough, because he didn’t lock me in for the night. He sleeps early and gets up before dawn, so I went down and picked the padlock to get a better look. That’s when I knew I_ had _to risk going to you. It wasn’t just about me and my mom, anymore.”_

Neatly arranged on the shelves sat nine jars, just as Barry had described. A faint chemical smell came from the liquid sealed inside, and floating within each was a human heart. Pristine and perfect, all of them, except the very first one on the shelf.

That one had multiple stab wounds, and Len didn’t need the medical examiner to tell him they’d been caused by a scalpel. 

Eight known victims of the Lonely Hearts Killer, plus Nora Allen. And tied around the neck of each jar with a white ribbon hung locks of human hair in varying shades of red. 

The missing hair was a detail that had been kept from the press, one of the methods police used to foil false confessions and tell a copycat killer from the real one. There could be no doubt. 

Henry Allen was the Lonely Hearts Killer.

* * *

Everything after that was a mere formality. Len took great pleasure in slamming cuffs around the bastard’s wrists and reading him his rights. He knew the FBI would swoop down and take jurisdiction at any moment, but at least he had the satisfaction of watching Allen get shoved into the back of a squad car. 

Back at the station, he discovered Barry had been squirrelled away in the break room, the only comfortable place to sit in the precinct. He was alone when Len knocked and walked in, but someone had wrapped him in a blanket and shoved a styrofoam cup of cocoa in his hands.

The kid was all but vibrating with nerves, and his smile when he looked up at Len was badly strained. “This stuff is total crap,” he said, gesturing with the half-empty cup before abandoning it on the table. “Your sister’s was way better.”

“I’ll pass along the compliment.” Len swung another chair around so he could sit facing Barry with nothing between them, close together but not quite invading the teen’s space. He knew Barry didn’t really want to talk about the abysmal quality of the station’s hot beverage dispenser, but was probably too scared of the answer to ask his real question.

Len didn’t leave him hanging. “It’s over, Barry. We found the hearts. He’s being processed as we speak, and the feds are swarming the station. You’re safe.”

A muffled sob escaped before Barry stuffed his fist against his mouth, his thin body shaking. Len reached out, slowly enough to give the kid plenty of time to pull away, but when he braced his hands on the skinny shoulders, Barry leaned into the support. 

“I’m not safe,” Barry insisted when he had control more or less back. “I’ll never be safe. He’ll find a way out. He’s too smart, he’ll charm the jury, buy off the prosecutor, _something_...”

“If he was that smart, he’d never have taken trophies, let alone things that can be used for DNA confirmation of identity,” Len interrupted him gently. “He’s going away for life, and he’s certainly not going to be granted bail or parole. I don’t care who his friends are or how much money he has. He’ll never hurt you again.”

Drawing a shuddering breath, Barry nodded. He still didn’t look completely convinced, but Len knew only time would accomplish that. “What happens now? To me, I mean.”

“Unless you’ve got a relative somewhere who might be willing to take you in…” Len trailed off as Barry shook his head. “Foster care, then. It’s not ideal, but you’re almost sixteen, it won’t be for long.”

“So I’m on my own.” 

“Only if you choose to be.” Len let him go and reached into his pocket, drawing out a business card.

Barry took it with a puzzled look, turning it over to see the number scrawled on the back. “What’s this?”

“My cell number. So you don’t have to chase me down on a bike next time.” Len let a wry smile spread over his lips. He had to admire the kid’s determination. “If you need _anything_ \- a shoulder to cry on, an ally at your back, hell, someone to slay the monster under the bed - you call me. Day or night. Understand?”

“Why?” Barry gave him the most adorable bewildered look. “I mean, I get why you cared I might be in trouble, and obviously why you care my dad’s a killer. But this… if you give this to me, I’m _going_ to use it.”

“You’d better.” The ‘threat’ was more reassuring than Barry knew. Len had been afraid pride and hard-taught wariness would force the boy to try to stand on his own, with no help from anyone. “You’ve got a tough road ahead, Barry, I won’t lie to you. This is already turning into a media circus. You’re gonna be famous, and not in a good way. People will treat you badly because of what your dad did. It’s the way of the world. I wish it wasn’t, but I can’t change it.”

“I deserve it.” Barry dropped his eyes, shoulders hunching, the picture of misery. “All of those women would still be alive if I hadn’t been a coward for so long.”

Alarmed by the track Barry was headed down, Len leaned forward and caught his hands. “Hey. None of this is on you. You were a _kid_ , Barry. A terrified little kid. Hell, you’re still a kid, even though I know you don’t want to hear that.”

Sure enough, that earned him a sour look. Len gave him a crooked smile. “Should you have come forward about your mother’s murder earlier? Yes, of course, in an ideal world. But the secret you were hiding was about an event that was over and done. Telling it would probably have caused you far more pain, and saved nobody, or so you thought. The moment you knew he was still hurting people, you did the right thing. That’s more than many would do, trust me.”

“It’s not enough. It could never be enough.” Barry tugged his hands free and rubbed them over his face - but Len noticed he was clutching tight to the card.

“For now, concentrate on the thought that thanks to the courage you _did_ show, he’ll never be able to hurt you or anyone else, ever again. Who knows how many more he would have killed in the years to come, if you hadn’t stepped up.”

“Yeah, I… yeah. Thanks. That does help, a little.” Barry managed a trembling smile.

“One thing, though.” Len arched a scolding eyebrow, and poked him in the chest with a pointed index finger. “No. More. Stealing. Promise me.”

To his great relief, Barry nodded. “Don’t worry, Detective. I’ve learned my lesson, I promise.”

“Len.”

Barry blinked in surprise, then his smile grew more solid. “Len.”

“I’m sorry to say it, but the feds are going to want to interview you.” Len hated to force the kid to drag himself through the mud all over again, but there was no helping it. “I know you’re exhausted and upset, but…”

“But exhausted and upset is exactly what they want me to be, to see if it makes my story change,” Barry finished for him. “I watch a lot of police shows, I know how it works. It’s okay. Trust me, nothing they put me through could be worse than what I’m used to.”

Standing, Len held out a hand to help the kid up, wishing he could offer far more than that. Allen might never have directly physically harmed his child beyond the night of the first murder, but he’d abused the boy horribly nonetheless. Barry was probably right that being put through the wringer of a federal investigation would seem easy in comparison.

Allen would never hurt Barry or anyone else again, Len reminded _himself_ this time. It might not feel like enough, but he couldn’t change the past. All he could do was change Barry’s future.

As they walked out of the break room, Len’s hand on Barry’s shoulder for support and guidance, there was a sudden commotion at the other end of the bullpen. Glancing over, Len’s blood chilled as he realized Allen was being led in cuffs from the holding cells to interrogation, and had caught a glimpse of his son.

Silently he cursed himself for not checking the coast was clear before bringing Barry out. The kid froze, trembling under Len’s hand, eyes wide as he stared at his father in terror.

Allen’s fury was a cold thing, something monstrous peering out of his eyes, as if the facade of the upstanding citizen had been peeled away and revealed the demon within. His gaze raked over Barry, contemptuous and enraged.

“This isn’t over,” he promised, low and vicious. He struggled against the feds trying to haul him off, turning his head to keep Barry in his sight. “How dare you turn on me, after everything I’ve done for you. You’re no better than a rabid dog, biting the hand that feeds you..”

With a silent snarl, Len stepped in front of Barry, breaking the doctor’s line of sight. “You’ll get to him over my dead body, Allen.”

Allen turned his attention to Len, no less scornful, and every bit as hateful. Sadly, he was too smart to take the bait and say something threatening like ‘that can be arranged’. He let the feds lead him away, staring over his shoulder at Len the whole time.

Behind him, Barry was leaning against his back, hands gripped tight in Len’s shirt. Len twisted around and slung an arm over the kid’s shoulder, and Barry huddled close.

Looking up, Barry gave him a warped smile. “My hero.” 

Despite his expression, the words sounded sincere. Len felt a burst of pride and happiness. “Always,” he promised, and he meant it with everything he had in him.

Maybe he wasn’t a superhero liked he’d dreamed of being as a little kid, or the kind of acclaimed and famous real life hero he’d been determined to become in the Academy. He might never even manage to be as much of a ‘hero’ as his father had been, in the eyes of the world.

As it turned out, being a hero in Barry’s eyes was pretty damn satisfying all on its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun - if rather dark - peek at the background changes for Len and Barry in my upcoming Coldflash fic. I love the idea that Len would be just as driven and dedicated - and good at stalking *ahm* I mean investigating - as a cop as he is as a criminal. Given not so big a difference, he would totally be driven to try to show up his dad as a cop instead of a thief. And the whole idea started with a thought of 'What if Henry really had killed Nora?'. 
> 
> The next story is set ten years later and deals with the fallout from all of this, after the particle accelerator changes everything. I hope you enjoyed this one, and look forward to the next if Coldflash is your thing!


End file.
